


i just couldn't make it right

by bountifulsilences



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, M/M, Mental Anguish, a very poor attempt at sciencing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 17:20:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17145881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bountifulsilences/pseuds/bountifulsilences
Summary: “I know you are, but it’s time to let go. It’s time to move on. You can’t fixate on the past. My 1500 years have taught me that in rough lessons I wouldn’t change for anything. But with you, I want nothing but kindness,” he said, kissing his hair softly. “Just breathe, my love, it will all be alright.”or, the one where Bruce tries and tries and tries, but it only ends in failures. luckily, Thor is there to pick up the pieces before he loses himself completely.





	i just couldn't make it right

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amuk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amuk/gifts).



> so I just realised that this is a ss fic which doesn't reference Christmas at all :)) i'm sorry I forgot akjbf
> 
> this is my first time ever writing thorbruce so my characterisation might be a bit all over the place but i hope its bearable!! i tried and i think that's all we can do really
> 
> this fic is also for the lovely  kumeko  who asked for this and i hope i delivered it well. it was difficult, i must admit, and i may have started 3 different fics but couldn't go through with them. this, however, i did and this is the outcome. i hope you like it bud !! :)
> 
> as always all mistakes are my own and i hope you enjoy this!!

Bruce stared at the chaos consumed desk, fingers trembling with poorly contained ire that threatened to submerge him if he didn't do something- didn’t move. He breathed heavily.

The cause of his rage, a failed experiment that he hasn't mastered despite the countless attempts, was in front of him, smashed to pieces because that’s all he could. It was all his fingers were capable of. Death and destruction. Fury, caked in impending doom which promised uncontrollable disaster.

Why couldn’t he get it right? What was so innately difficult in synthesising life in the petri dish that he couldn’t manage such a simple task, when he knew various scientists with less experience than him were cultivating colonies of bacteria in labs. Why was he unable to compete?

And then a treacherous voice that sounded just like him, voice dripping with self-loathing, sneered a truth which he didn’t want to hear. Didn’t want to confront.

The only thing he was capable of feeling was unadulterated rage.

Within him, the monitor which processed emotions and induced the variance was broken, because he, a scientist who knew that the path to success was composed of failures, was furious. Furious that the life was refusing to grow. Furious that the temperature wasn’t right, that the contamination was occurring, that for some reason his equipment wasn’t even sterile.

Perhaps all his hands were good for, green or not, was the demolition of buildings and breaking bones like twigs. His hands, which didn’t even have to change a shade because his ire was so clearly his and not the Hulk’s, clenched into a fist because it was all he could do to stop himself. To prevent further devastation on his work bench.

It was a poor attempt, more of a psychological barrier than a physical one, but he didn’t want to destroy the room, he vaguely reminded himself. Regardless of his justified anger, wreaking havoc would only amplify his despair. Exaggerate it to means where he wouldn’t be able to leave the room without transforming to his counterpart because he didn't want to deal with the world.

Refused to walk into a world where he knew he couldn’t orchestrate a single experiment correctly, where his PhD’s that he worked tirelessly to achieve meant nothing if he was fucking up all he touched. He just wanted to create- wanted to nurture and assess the growth and compose because he couldn’t do anything else.

But. But, looking at his desk and staring at the failure he thought, maybe he couldn’t create it was true. But he was exceptional at smashing things to oblivion, ruining hard work and spoiling the contentment of many people, not just himself. And perhaps he’d never be able to produce something good with his besmirched fingers, but he’d shatter the test tubes just how each failure shattered his patience.

Breathing heavily, fingers and knuckles cracking in warning, he tried not to react negatively to his own thoughts. He was okay, it was fine. He’d try again, that was all he could do. Maybe, he could enlist help, Thor was always eager to partake in his experiments. But he wanted this win for himself and he failed, and he couldn't stop failing and he was so angry that-

That he calmly walked towards the desk opposite to his worktop, multiple apparatus and glass objects lined up ready to be used. Bruce picked up a magnifying glass. Assessing it in his hands, angling it in multiple positions that the oppressive lights shone from the glass, he sighed. If all he could do was ruin and hurt and feel the despair of his failures, then he’d destroy everything along with himself.

So, he threw the magnifying glass, satisfied when he saw it crumble and shards of glass erupted across the room. Looking at the rest of the equipment on the desk, he didn’t even bother with them individually. Instead, leaning against the worktop he used his arms and swiped them onto the ground, heaving as the anger- it boiled over.

The stubborn few that remained caused the rage to roar and he picked them up, throwing them against the wall with the strength that only Hulk would allow him to use, and looked away before he could see them dismember.

Breaths overwhelming his ears, he focused on his panting and then stalked to the bacteria in its test tube ready for extraction. Glaring at it for one last time, he apprehended it and clenched it within his fist, needing it to break in his grasp. It couldn’t harm him, nothing could; his skin was impenetrable. But he needed to feel the damage, and this was the only way how. Hand uninjured, shards like diamonds plummeted to the ground and the substance dripped from his fist.

It still wasn’t enough.

The thousands of dollar incubator, the one that he didn’t even pay for- it belonged to Tony, his eyes set on to it. If it didn’t want to cooperate with him then it wouldn’t with anyone, and that was all he could think. Lifting it off the surface effortlessly, he threw it as hard as he could against the ground, shouting unintelligibly in anger.

Why? Why was he so- fucking useless? Why wouldn’t it work? Why did nothing ever work?

His heart was beating rapidly, and he knew that it wouldn’t implode, it was too powerful for that, but it sure felt like it would.

He couldn’t- think. Too consumed with rage.

“Fuck!” he shouted- screamed almost, and he wondered why he hadn’t hulked out yet, why he was still painstakingly him. He didn’t want to feel anymore, didn’t want to be himself. But of course, nothing ever worked out for him.

All he could do was yell again, nothing was ever going to work out for him. He was destined for failures.

“My brother thought he could up me again, but he is foolish to thin-” Thor’s sentence fell flat.

Bruce heaved as he collapsed onto the bench, head burrowed in his arms as he felt the need to scream. He felt better after the shouting, not greatly so but enough for him to think straight and realise that Thor didn’t need to see any of this. He needed to leave immediately.

“Bruce?” Thor called, foolishly thinking that it would work.

He couldn’t face him like this. Not when the product of his temper was still present. There was a mess surrounding him, glass as sharp as thorns scattered across the marble floor and it was almost as though it was trying to trap him inside. Didn’t want him to escape. He was a monster.

Groaning loudly, he stiffened when he felt Thor’s arm wrap around him, the heat seeping into his skin. He didn’t want this, he didn’t deserve it. He was not worthy.

“Just,” he breathed deeply, trying to compose himself to utter the sentence. “Just leave Thor.”

Indignantly, Thor said, “no! Why would I- what happened? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

He wasn’t hurt, no. Nothing pained him physically, Hulk didn’t allow it. But mentally he felt his soul ripping into two and dissolving in the floor by its own pool of acid. Why was this all he was capable of? God, the room was wrecked. He was wrecked.

“Just go Thor, I need some space,” Bruce repeated, barely holding it together. The concrete agitation that was locked within him only seemed to inflate. “I’ll be okay, later. But for now…”

He couldn’t twist and openly look at Thor. Those blue, oceanic eyes that held too much love and too much compassion and too much mirth were unbearable. His own sadness could not cope with it. And how hysterically horrific was it, that he was shunning Thor for accomplishing what he couldn’t. For being what he couldn’t.

_Beware of jealousy! It’s a green-eyed monster that makes fun of the victims it devours._

It had swallowed him entirely, painting the once fragile skin emerald and omitting a truth that he could never conceal. Within him raged a beast that was conceived of jealousy, inadequacy, and despair. It mocked him daily, as did the catastrophes that forged such beast, but it was most prominent then. When he couldn’t see Thor because of his ineptness.

“Bruce, no,” he protested, inclining to the side so he could face him. Bruce looked away cowardly. “Talk to me, what happened? Why is all the equipment destroyed? Are you okay?”

No! No, I’m not okay and I’m not alright and I hate myself for being so damn dejected that I can’t face you because of it. Just go, let me suffer in peace.

“I’m fine Thor,” he replied, sharply and barely containing the instability. “I just need some space. Can you please just go?”

Again, Thor said, “please Banner, what happened? Are you oka-”

“God damn it Thor!” Bruce exploded, pushing Thor out of the way and finally getting the space he desired, breathing heavily once more. “No! No, I’m not okay, is that what you want to hear?”

He glared at him, accusatory and so unjustly angry that he couldn’t explain it. Helplessly, Thor returned his gaze. A warrior never backed down from a fight, and he most definitely wouldn’t. It was all so messy.

“Yes,” Thor replied, careful so as not to startle him. “I just want you to be honest Bruce, when you are then we can work through this together.”

Together? Work through it? Bucky forced a cynical chuckle, pacing as he looked around in amusement. Did Thor truly think that there was a cure? An analgesic for the bitter wound? Because there wasn't. He was haunted with these emotions and that was all. There was no resolve.

“Please Thor,” he started, tiredly and unable to keep up the facade for this. “There is no working things through. Just... just leave me be. The anger will subside eventually or diminish at least. It won't be this destructive forever.”

“Bruce,” he uttered.

“What?” he asked.

“What is going on?” Thor questioned, voice soft and quiet. “Please, just talk to me. What are you talking about?”

He sighed, wiping his palm over his face and shook his head. There was no end.

“What I’m always talking about, Thor.” His anger and constant depression were it for him. “I feel nothing but rage and despair. I do nothing but destroy. My life and hands are useless. This is it for me.”

His destiny was weaved with branches promising malcontent. Nothing could change it. What was willed to happen, would. Not even Thor could alter fate and he was a God. Just endure it and move on, shoulder the pain like he always did and break a couple of things just because. It was all he could do, after all.

“Bruce-” Thor tried to say but he interrupted quickly. “No, Thor, it’s okay. You don’t have to-”

“Bruce.”

“-say anything, I know and understand. I’ve always-”

“Bruce.”

“-been like this and always will, fate proclaims it so-”

“Bruce!” Thor intervened, loudly.

“What?” he said defensively, looking at Thor’s hooded eyes. “What?”

“Do you ever stop?” he asked. A simple question really. “Because once you start there is no end. It’s boundless.”

Bruce chuckled mirthlessly. He was true.

It didn’t console Thor, who continued, “why do you think this is it? Anger and pain are all you must bear when there is so much happiness waiting for you? When your hands create far more than they destroy? When you are far more capable than you believe.”

“That’s not tr-”

“No, now you listen to me,” Thor said, cutting him off before his sentence could finish. Walking over to Bruce, he said, “look beyond you, not too far but at the apartment if nothing else. Who waters the plants every morning before he practices yoga? Who ensures that they are fed so that they can thrive? Because it isn’t my callous fingers.”

He loved plants. The simplicity of life demonstrated in their cycle. Their balcony was full of them.

“You claim you feel nothing but despair and rage but, my love, do you allow yourself to feel anything else? You shy from joy like you’re scared. You think you don’t deserve the luxuries of the world. You don’t let yourself feel anything but sadness and anger,” Thor declared, comfortingly and sadly. “There is comfort in sadness, I understand. But how can you live if you don’t let yourself feel?”

Bruce stumbled back, retaining balance when Thor caught his arms. Was it true? Did he not let himself be happy? Did he sabotage himself?

“You’re wrong,” he told Thor, “I wouldn’t do this to myself. Why would I? It’s only me losing here, it doesn’t make sense.”

“I don’t know, that is a question only you can answer. But I observe you, you’re my favourite person to watch on this planet, and I have seen you retreat when the smile on your face grows. Or when our comrades invite us for a meal. Or when you find yourself enjoying something too much. You walk away and won’t let the heart just be.”

He didn’t deserve happiness, he knew that. It was true. But would he deny himself of it? Splinter from moments where he experienced it? But why?

He was so unbelievably tired, the fatigue was bearing down on his shoulders and back, and the hair on his head had turned grey. The only one he could complain of was himself, he was doing this to himself. How could he complain when he composed everything?

“I’m tired Thor,” he said simply, voice heavy. “I’m just really tired.”

Encircling him within his arms, Thor held him tightly and sighed, the air blowing on to Bruce’s hair. He buried his face in Thor’s face. 

“I know you are, but it’s time to let go. It’s time to move on. You can’t fixate on the past. My 1500 years have taught me that in rough lessons I wouldn’t change for anything. But with you, I want nothing but kindness,” he said, kissing his hair softly. “Just breathe, my love, it will all be alright.”

Bruce closed his eyes and nodded. Did he believe it? No. But just being in Thor’s arms was enough for him. The debilitating emotions wouldn’t leave- not completely. But they were muted in the embrace, and he thought that perhaps. Perhaps it was time to start letting himself feel. His life may be outstretched but his friends wasn’t.

For their sake, it was time to learn how to be functional and the best him he could be. They deserved it. And maybe along the way, he could determine whether he did too. Life was fickle, emotions transient and places forever changing. It was time to heal.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr:  bountifulsilences   
> twitter:  AwestruckBuck 


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